


Wenches At Sea

by silverr



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, F/F, Pirates, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Eel and Oyster, the tale is told of how the Scourge of the Waking Sea and the Champion journeyed with clerics, stole the Queen of Antiva, faced a demon armada, and still found time for a walk on the beach.</p><p>Written for wook77's <b>fandom_helps</b> bid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wook77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wook77/gifts).



> Dragon Age 2 is copyrighted intellectual property of BioWare and EA International (Studio and Publishing) Ltd. and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Dragon Age, or its derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

 

_._

.

The Eel and Oyster tavern in Llomerryn was, in many ways, like every other tavern in Thedas. Its ramble of rooms were crammed with battered wooden tables and benches, its walls and ceiling were blackened by soot from the torches and the smoky fireplaces, its aroma changed according to the weather and the clientele, and its ale was cheap and its barmaids ample. But the Eel and Oyster did, from time to time, have one extraordinary feature that no other tavern in Thedas could boast of: the infamous scoundrel and raconteur Richard Russell Newton Ginelly-Miller of Beaumont.

To describe Richard—known as "Petit" to his many friends (what he was called by his lovers was something else altogether)—as flamboyant was a serious understatement. As tall and broad as a kossith, the captain of _The Ganymede_ was known to dress with drab simplicity when at sea, blending into the mass of his crew as they boarded and plundered the richest of the merchant ships hurrying between Orlais and Antiva. But on land… when he made landfall Petit welcomed being the center of attention, striding through the streets in high scarlet boots, breeches of flowered brocade, excessively ruffled shirts, and swirling greatcoats of satin. Like a pied piper, his mane of brown curls and his handsome face drew men and women alike to the Eel and Oyster, where for two weeks he would hold court, attracting not only Llomerryn locals but well-to-do patrons from the mainland, delicate lords and ladies that were titillated as much by Petit's air of exotic danger as his good looks.

The questions were always the same: "Have you killed many men?" someone would ask timidly, and "Aye," Petit would say. "With various of my weapons." He would then smile lazily until his interrogator began to blush, and then would add, "And women too."

"What was the most you ever acquired in one parley?"

"We once captured a fleet of six treasure ships. And their convoy," he said as though admitting to eating an apple.

"That must have been the biggest treasure you ever took in!"

"In terms of gross weight? Yes. Most precious? No, not at all…" He gazed up at the ceiling, smiling faintly in reminisce, tantalizing his audience. "Dare I speak of that most precious cargo?"

"Was it gold?"

"Jewels?"

Petit shook his head. "Far rarer still. Although…" He dipped his head. "Perhaps I should hold my tongue: to recount this story, even after so many years, might risk destroying a nation…"

But the crowd pleaded, and Petit was swayed. "How can I deny such eager faces?" he said. "Prepare yourselves, then, my lords, ladies, doxies, and ruffians, for an amazing tale of unimaginable surprises, treasures and perils! But before we start, let us take a moment to refill our tankards… "

 

.

\- 1 -

.

"You're joking!" Isabela dropped the coil of rope on the counter. "I wouldn't use this to tie up a horny grandfather! And even then, I certainly wouldn't pay what you're asking!"

The rope-maker looked to the pirate's companion, a female mage with short dark hair. "No point in looking at me," she said with a shrug. "Isabela's the one you have to please."

"Isabela? Isabela of _The Siren's Call_?" The rope-maker went pale, then hurriedly pulled a hank of several rope samples from under the counter of his stall. "My apologies! I had no idea." He smiled nervously as Isabela handled the samples, saying as she chose the third-thickest one, "An excellent choice, Captain!"

"I don't tip for flattery," Isabela said as she counted out a pile of gold coins. "Six barrel's-worth. _Watertight_ barrels. And I won't bother to explain," she said, "what will happen to _your_ length if the cordage is sloppily spliced. I'll sent someone in a week to arrange delivery."

"You didn't take the thickest one?" Hawke asked mischievously, watching as the rope-maker carefully wrote down Isabela's instructions and a receipt. "Isn't thicker _better_?"

"Not always," Isabella said as she glanced sideways at Hawke. "You might not believe it, but there's such a thing as _too_ much girth and stiffness. Less thickness means more flexibility. Especially if you're being creative."

"Are you still talking about rope?" Hawke asked as they walked away from the rope-maker, who was turning a delightful shade of red.

"For the most part," Isabela said.

 

.

"I don't understand why you're buying rope for a non-existent boat," Hawke said as they threaded their way through the crowded market.

"A ship, and we'll have one soon."

"And won't it come with rope?"

"The first principle I was taught when I started sailing," Isabela said as she perused a stall of head-scarves, "is that rotted ropes, wet stores, hull damage, and misleading maps are very bad. If you don't take care of them, the sea will eat you. Or your crew will."

"So the new rope is insurance." Hawke asked. "Is there a second principle?"

"Of course," Isabela said, moving on. "Learn to evaluate the weather and your crew at a glance, otherwise you'll never keep up with the problems they cause."

"Also good advice. Even for non-captains."

"But the key," Isabela said, "is to accept that most of your life will be a game of dice with Fortuna. Skill and wit only take you so far: the rest is luck."

"That's… I've never heard you talk this way." Hawke said.

"Which way?"

"So _seriously_."

"You sound surprised." Isabela had stopped to watch a shirtless, well-muscled young man unloading crates of fruit from a cart. "Is it so difficult to believe?"

"I suppose I'm accustomed to thinking of you as an expert in two things," Hawke said. "Neither of which require much philosophy. All this ship's captain stuff makes me realize I've never thought much about what you did before I met you."

"Only two things?'" Isabela asked, pretending to sound insulted. "Let's get out of this lovely boy's way and discuss that number." She pulled Hawke around the corner of the fruit vendor's stall, ostensibly to let the now-empty cart pass through the narrow market lane, but really to have an excuse to pin Hawke against the wall with her body.

As much as Hawke was tempted to unlace Isabela right then and there, she made do instead with sliding her hand under the hem of Isabela's overshirt and teasing the strap of the tight, narrow smallclothes that were the Rivaini's concession to modesty.

"Keep that up," Isabella murmured, "and I'll flood the street." She licked the edge of Hawke's ear, then tugged gently on the earlobe with her teeth, a move that made Hawke wish very much that they weren't in the middle of a crowded market.

Or more to the point, that she wasn't wearing an ankle-length robe.

Isabela pulled away and said, "Oh no, you've got that _Damn you Isabela why are you getting me hot and bothered in public?_ face again. You really ought to get rid of whichever little voice in your head makes you do that."

"Uhh…" Hawke wasn't feeling very coherent.

"That reminds me!" Isabela let go of Hawke and stepped back, looking her up and down as if checking her robe for wrinkles. "We've _got_ to get you something more practical to wear on the ship. For the few hours a day we won't be naked in our bed."

Hawke was determined to change the subject, because—market be damned—naked was sounding more and more appealing. "Tell me again why you didn't just have a ship _built_?"

"Because my old friend Petit has a sweet little sloop he's got no crew for."

"And he's just _giving_ you this ship?"

"Well, no," Isabela said lightly. "He's letting me use it. In exchange for some errands."

"Errands?" Hawke raised an eyebrow. "You mean smuggling."

"I wouldn't say that. We'll just be taking things from one place to… another place. A simple transport service."

"Oh, so it'll be legal cargo?" Hawke asked with the little smirk that meant that she knew full well the answer.

"So! Sailing! Exciting, eh?" Isabela said brightly. "Looking forward to experiencing the freedom of life on the sea?"

"Actually I am," Hawke replied with a nod. "Though not if it's going to lead to experiencing life in prison. Or the freedom of the gallows."

Isabela sighed. "It's useless. You win." She held up her hands. "I swear to take nothing but completely legitimate jobs until after you've tired of life at sea."

"And if I never tire of it?" Hawke asked, folding her arms.

"Then I guess," Isabela said, "you'll have made an honest woman of me."

 

.

"Wait a minute!" someone in the crowd asked Petit. "Do you mean to say that the Champion – or should I say the _Destroyer_ – of Kirkwall ran away with the Scourge of the Waking Sea?"

"And _you_ \- you gave them a ship to – pirate with!" accused a lace-encrusted noblewoman, who didn't seem to be suffering from any shortage of luxury goods.

Petit held up his hands and said lightly, "Well, my dear Messeres, at the time I had no idea what the Champion would do with my gift – I simply thought she could use a respite from her battles with ancient evils, horrors, and devouring plagues. I had heard that Isabela was a superb captain, and thought she could convey her safely to a peaceful, secluded beach." Petit smiled, then paused to take a sip from his goblet. "Of course, if you would rather I tell a different, more spiritually uplifting story ... ?"

The crowd shouted down the two critics and elbowed them to the back of the room, then begged Petit to continue.

"Their next task," he said once the room had quieted, "was to find a crew… "

 

.

.

.

_first post 14 July 2012; rev 9 June 2017_


	2. Chapter 2

.

.

When the word got around that Captain Isabella was looking for crew, the stairs to their room of the Salty Dog Inn were packed with applicants, but by late afternoon it was clear to Hawke that most of the men were there to simply to gawk at the infamous Isabela, Scourge of the Waking Sea. The few actual sailors that passed Isabela's initial scrutiny were asked to demonstrate knot-tying, knife-throwing, and loading a pistol blindfolded; if they passed those tests Isabela asked them to drop their trousers. Only then were they offered the Articles of Agreement to sign.

Most did not make it to this step.

.

"So it's Jebail, is it?" Isabela asked. "Who've you sailed under?"

He looked puzzled. "Shouldn’t I be telling that to the captain?"

"Next!"

.

"Women on ships is bad luck." The old man sucked on a tooth. "An' two is…"

"Twice as bad?" Hawke offered.

Isabela toyed with the throwing knives.

"Perhaps two women on board would cancel each other out?" Hawke suggested. "Like turning half-way around twice?"

The old man looked startled, then nodded once. "Well, put that way… I 'spose s'all right then." He looked relieved. "Should I show me dangle now?"

"Some other time," Isabela said.

"Is there a reason you ask some of them to take their pants off?" Hawke asked after the old man had left. "Or are you just being  Isabela?"

"It tests their willingness to take orders from a woman, for one," Isabela said. "And two…"

"You want to check their bowsprit?" Hawke offered.

Isabela laughed. "I couldn't have said it better myself. I'll make a sailor of you yet!"

.

The boy was a whiz at knots and threw with impressive accuracy, though he failed the pistol test and afterward struggled, red-faced, with the buttons on his breeches.

"Never mind that," Isabela said. "Come over here, sweet thing."

He shuffled over to Isabela, staring at the floor.

"Do big chests bother you?" she asked softly.

"No ma'am," he said shyly.

"How old are you?" Hawke asked.

"Sixteen."

"No, _really_."

"Fourteen."

"I think—"

"Eleven."

"Ah. Eleven. I thought as much. " Isabela fished a gold coin from her cleavage. "Keep practicing. In a few years you'll have your pick of ships." As the boy hurried away Isabela added, "Tell your mother she's doing a wonderful job."

.

"I can't believe we've been at this all day," Hawke said with a yawn, noticing that the grimy window of their room was tinted red from sunset. "Sitting still is exhausting."

Isabela stretched, arching her back and tasking her corset to the limit. "And for four lousy sailors. _Four_. I've never had to build a crew from nothing before. It's a chore."

"What about _The Siren's Call?_ "

"I inherited that crew along with the ship," Isabela said.

"And they made you captain?"

Isabela laughed. "No, they didn't even want me on board. I convinced them to set sail for Orlais, told them they could ransom me there if they wanted, and said they were welcome to throw me overboard if we ran into any bad weather."

"Risky."

"That was half the fun. Anyhow, once they saw me fight they started to come around."

"It was that simple?"

"Of course not," Isabela said. "On the way to Orlais I dueled a few, fucked a few, and kept track of the quiet ones who had more than half a brain. When we were overtaken by a royal navy warship the soggy bastard who called himself our captain turned me over to the uniforms as a murderess. Figured he'd be rid of me."

"Charming."

"Well, I turned his dirty trick back on him by crippling the flagship," Isabela said as she rolled up the Articles parchment and tucked it out of sight above the door-frame. "The _Siren's_ crew was so impressed they tossed _him_ overboard and elected me captain."

"You crippled a flagship? By yourself?"

"It's a long story," Isabela said as she started down the stairs to the Salty Dog's mess hall. "Let's save the details for another day."

"All right," Hawke said, following. "I'll hold you to that." Thinking of the large blank space at the bottom of the Articles, she asked, "How many more do we need for the crew?"

"I'd like sixteen, but we could get by with as few as ten." Isabela said, settling at a corner table and motioning one of the barmaids to bring them ale and stew. "Eight more sailors, a carpenter, and a surgeon."

"A healer." Hawke looked away, into the orange and red flames of the fireplace. _Anders_. For a moment the Kirkwall memories she still wasn't ready to re-live stabbed at her.

"Someone to set bones, stitch up wounds, lance boils," Isabela said in the tone she used when she realized too late that she'd trodden on a painful subject and was now trying to hurry past it. "Nothing fancy."

"Did I hear you're looking for a carpenter?" A stout, clean-shaven man accompanied by a surprisingly pretty teenaged boy approached them. Both wore loose, shapeless clothes and brimmed hats.

"I might be." Isabela took a long swig from her tankard. "If I asked either of you to drop your trousers, would I see a tool or a toolbox?"

The older stranger glanced at the younger, then nodded. "A keen eye, Captain Isabela."

Isabela acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of her head.

"Oh, you're both women!" Hawke said.

"Carpenter, eh?" Isabela asked. "Any sea-going experience?"

"Aye, Captain. Learned the trade on my father's ship, and kept my husband's bilges dry and his hull careened for more'n ten years before the sea took 'im."

Isabela—who had looked on the verge of pouncing on "dry bilges"—instead asked, "And your friend?"

"My daughter Kallie. Been learnin' the trade since she was six."

"Can either of you fight?"

"If need be, with pistol or sword."

"Show me your hands."

The woman and her daughter held them out. Both had large, strong hands, with weathered skin and work-reddened knuckles.

Isabela nodded. "Welcome to the crew. We'll go upstairs and sign the Articles after we eat."

"What did you say your name was?" Hawke asked.

"Martha, _serrah_. Martha Nann."

Isabela motioned to the barmaid to bring two more tankards and bowls, then moved over to make room for the newcomers to sit. "How did you find me?"

"Petit said you were looking for crew," Martha said.

"Petit!" Isabela grinned. "You know Petit?"

"Aye, I've known that lecherous tomcat since he was a kitten too small to pounce on the mousies," Martha said. "So… how soon do we sail?"

Isabela said, "Within the week, I'm hoping. We're still a bit short-handed."

"Oh?" Martha said. "How many?"

"Five to twelve," Isabela said, "And a surgeon, if I can find one."

Rather than answer this question Martha said carefully, "Petit said the sloop might need _work_ before leaving port."

Isabela said after a pause, "I'm not doing that this trip." She tilted her head. "Does that change your mind about joining my crew?"

Hawke had the feeling that she was missing something. She glanced at Kallie, but the girl had her head down, concentrating on eating her stew.

"No," Martha said, folding her arms on the table. "Just checking the grain. If you're nae raiding I might have some bodies for you. Hard workers all, who'd rather earn their bruises than be given them, but some won't want spilling blood on their conscience."

"Bodies?" Hawke hoped Martha wasn't offering shambling corpses or revenants as crew-members.

"Widows and those sold to the highest bidder in the name of marriage," Martha explained.

"So they're fugitives?" Isabela asked, but Hawke knew that this, at least, wasn't an obstacle: Isabela had never complained about helping Fenris.

"I cannot say," Martha replied. "All I recall is that at least one of them is a nurse."

…

"And so," Petit told the entranced crowd, "Captain Isabela and Hawke set sail with a crew of seventeen – four men and thirteen women – intending to earn an honest living by ferrying small luxury goods between Antiva and Orlais.

"Alas, it was not to be… "

.

.

.

posted 19 July 2012; rev 12 July 2015


	3. Chapter 3

.

.

"I thought I'd find you up here." Isabela pulled herself up to where Hawke was sitting at the stern of the ship. "Feeling any better?"

Hawke nodded, holding her face up to the cool, salty wind. "I feel less sloshed around up here then below."

"You've got a sailor's heart, then." Isabela sat behind Hawke, running her hands over the leather vest and leggings that had replaced Hawke's robe, then draped her arms loosely around Hawke's waist.

"If not a sailor's stomach," Hawke said with a small smile.

Isabela rested her chin on Hawke's shoulder while above them Martha's daughter Kallie, who hung in the rigging scanning the horizon, singsonged an all-clear.

"I'm beginning to understand why you love it out here," Hawke said after they'd sat in silence for a while, listening to the splash of the waves, the creak of the ropes, and the crew's occasional instructions to each other about adjusting the sails and the yards. "It's … simpler here. Just sea and sky and ship. Nothing hemming you in or tying you down."

"Being tied down isn't _always_ a bad thing," Isabela murmured, and slid one hand up under Hawke's vest to tease the underside of her breast. "Remind me to show you sometime."

"Mmmm." Hawke leaned back. "I can tell that life at sea will be full of pleasant surprises."

"Count on it."

Hawke smiled. Now that they were at sea she could see how much more relaxed Isabela was. She had never noticed before how much she acted like a hunted beast, constantly on the move as if afraid that a weighted net would fall on her at any moment …

"They're all doing surprisingly well," Isabela said. "Even the landlubbers. I'd expected more complaints."

"Smart women are quick learners. And desperation can be a great motivator."

"Don't I know it."

"I'm more surprised at how the men are behaving," Hawke said. "I suppose being outnumbered four to one has something to do with that?"

"Yes, and they're all terrified of Martha," Isabela chuckled.

"Ship!" Kallie called out. "Rovers, by the look of 'em." She scrambled down the rigging and handed her spyglass to Isabela.

"Rovers? You mean pirates? How can you tell?" Hawke asked, squinting at the smudge on the horizon that she took to be the ship Kallie had sighted. "Isn't it too far away to see guns or flag?"

"When a brigantine that size has no fore or aft upper decks," Isabela said as she scrutinized through the spyglass, "there's a good chance the rest of the ship's been gutted as well."

"Gutted? Why?"

"Taking out bulkheads and cabins makes a ship lighter and more maneuverable," Isabela explained as she closed the spyglass. "It also lets you carry a larger crew." She waved Martha over, then said, "They've come about and are heading our way."

"Will we be runnin'?" Martha asked.

"No, they'd take it as flirty foreplay if we did," Isabela said. "Not to mention they have more than enough canvas to catch us. I'll guess they're carrying at least twelve cannon, probably more, with Maker knows how many rail guns." She grinned. "Well, let's hope they're thirsty."

"We trading up?"

"We'll see after they drop their breeches."

Martha chuckled then whistled, motioning the crew to follow her below-decks.

"Do you think this is going to work?" Hawke asked Isabela.

"We'll soon find out," she replied. "Now let's go get into our disguises."

.

"What business do such lovely ladies have on the Waking Sea?" The captain of the pirate ship _Grand Méchant_ was too far away for his expression to be seen, but his voice clearly held more amusement than belligerence. The pirate ship's cannons were, for the moment, unmanned, though all the gun ports were opened.

Martha, who stood at the front of the crowd of a dozen female crew-members – every one of them now dressed in clerical robes – responded, "Serrah, we are but simple disciples of the Order of the Scythe of the Radiant Valley. Andraste appeared to our Reverend Mother in a vision, and told her to venture forth with twenty barrels of our cloister's sparkling fruit nectar as a gift for Her Holiness."

"Quite a long voyage when you be not sailors!" the pirate captain chuckled. "Surely your nectar will have fermented into vinegar by the time you reach Val Royeaux?"

"If that is the will of the Maker," Martha said with a bow.

"And what if I tell you," the pirate captain said, "that I too had a vision? One telling me that those barrels belong on my ship?"

"If that is true, will you give our sisterhood safe transport to Orlais as well?" Martha asked fervently, clasping her hands. "We have no coin but our prayers to repay your kindness, but our prayers you will have, in abundance."

"Well …" The pirate captain chuckled again. "I wouldn't say that prayers are your only blessing. I'm sure if my men searched under your skirts they'd find _something_ of value."

Martha said coldly, "Steal our casks if you must, but then be on your way. To take more from us would be like defiling the Divine herself."

"I'll risk her wrath," the pirate captain said as a number of sailors with grappling hooks appeared on the deck of his ship. "Prepare to be boarded."

.

"That's preposterous!" someone in the audience at the Eel and Oyster protested. "And sacrilegious! Female sailors masquerading as clerics? It's not to be believed!"

"Fantastical it may seem, yet it is true," Petit asserted.

"What happened next?" one of the wide-eyed youngsters sitting at Petit's feet asked.

"Well," Petit said, "criminals such as pirates clearly have no respect for the fairer sex, do they? Or the Chantry, for that matter. No, those barbarians cast their hooks across to Isabela's ship, drew it close, then took from her hold the twenty barrels of Radiant Valley nectar. They also, as pirates so often do, forcibly conscripted Isabela's male crew-members.

"As they began to discuss the clerics –" Here Petit paused, noting how fearfully a demure noblewoman in the audience was wringing her lace-gloved hands, "– and otherwise distribute the plunder _,_ the early evening sky above the ships began to curdle with stormclouds. Thunder rumbled, lightning stabbed down at the otherwise calm sea, and the sails went slack from lack of wind. The crew of the _Grand Méchant –_ many of them already uneasy at the thought of bringing so many women aboard – took the impending ill weather as ill omen, and voted to simply leave Isabela's ship tethered to theirs by a long tow line.

"Having settled this matter, they battened their hatches and prepared to ride out the storm … "

.

When a hail-laced electrical storm unleashes daggers of ice on the wooden deck of a ship it makes a fair amount of noise. If that storm is also pelting the lids of twenty wooden barrels it sounds like the entire Sundermount is crashing down.

Especially to anyone hiding inside a barrel.

As soon as the storm's punishing hail had driven the _Grand Méchant_ 's crew below decks the lids of five barrels lifted and then slid aside. Hawke, Isabela, and three other women emerged, their bodies encased in the faint halo of Hawke's elemental shielding. The five women melted across the deck, their dark leathers making them blend into the shadows.

Within a quarter of an hour the ship was theirs. Hiding every weapon-and-ammo cache they found inside the empty barrels, they swiftly disarmed and incapacitated any pirate that appeared above deck – any that did not immediately dive overboard in fear at sight of female wraiths, that is. When Isabela and Hawke went below decks to liberate their crewmen from the hold and parley with the pirate captain, they discovered he'd already met his end at the hands of his crew, who were angry that he had exposed them to divine retribution by threatening to violate a Reverend Mother.

Isabela – after Hawke had given a demonstration of how effective certain non-fire spells were in the enclosed space of the ship's hold – gave the pirates a choice: stay on the _Grand Méchant_ and serve under her, or swim over to the sloop and go their scoundrelish way.

"You want us to gather over there like sheep to be killed by cannon-fire? How stupid do you think we are?" one of the pirates demanded.

"Pretty stupid," Isabela answered, "if you're worried about limp cannons." She then explained that, as a goodwill gesture meant to forestall their worries, she had had Kallie pour water into the powder-chambers of the _Grand Méchant_ 's cannons, making them temporarily unusable.

The pirates scoffed at this claim, but after two of their number had verified the state of the cannons, Lukas and his crew accepted her offer and left for the smaller ship.

"Good riddance," Isabela said as they sailed away.

.

Hawke stretched out on the bed of the cabin. In contrast to the sloop – whose "captain's chambers" had been a narrow, partially-enclosed bunk – this room was large enough to crowd in a table, chairs, and several chests and footlockers in addition to the bed.

"What in the name of …?" Isabela murmured. She was studying the ship's logs and navigational charts.

"What is it?"

"It … it makes no sense," Isabela said slowly. "They last made port near Rialto, but since then they've gone out of their way to avoid the merchant routes."

"And why is that strange?" Hawke asked.

"Would you refit a ship for raiding," Isabela asked as she looked over at Hawke, "make it fast as a greased snake, load it to the gills with firepower, and then completely ignore the juiciest hunting grounds?"

"Good point. Maybe they were like us," Hawke said with a grin. "Maybe they were _making deliveries_ instead of raiding."

"I doubt it." Isabela opened a small battered journal. "These entries use a Felicisima code I don't remember very well," she said as she leafed through the pages, "but I _think_ this last entry says that they took on several attendants, a valuable treasure, and some birds."

"Attendants?" Hawke asked. "Attendants like … body slaves? How could they transport slaves, when the ship doesn't have any holding cells?"

"Oh, generally only full-time slave traders build cages," Isabela said. "Manacles and _sumiso_ extract are perfectly adequate most of the time."

"Sumiso?"

"Black market item," Isabela said. "Compliance oil. From the little red leaf with a hundred and one uses." She continued to page through the journal. "If they _did_ have slave cargo, they off-loaded in a hurry. At sea." She shook her head. "I don't understand why they didn't just put into a port large enough to have a slave market."

"Maybe the winds weren't favorable or something?"

"Possibly." Isabela sighed. "I really like answers better than questions."

"Does that entry say what the valuable treasure was?"

"No." Isabela looked around the room. "Lukas probably took it with him, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to see if he left anything interesting behind."

Hawke pointed to a huge pierce-work chest hulking in the corner of the room. "Maybe in there?"

"Too obvious," Isabela said, "Still, I like the size of the padlock. As promising as a bulging codpiece." It didn't resist her picks for long.

Hawke—who had expected to see a heap of gold and jewels—gasped in surprise as the lid fell back.

The chest contained a little girl dressed in a drab tunic and leggings. She glared at them.

"Who the hell are you?" Isabela asked.

"I am Altanera of Antiva," the girl said frostily. "Princess and future Queen."

_._

_._

_._

posted 26 July 2012; rev 17 Sept 2012


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A princess roars, a life is lost, several mysteries emerge, dangerous strangers join Petit's audience, and a captain becomes impatient.

.

"Are you now?" Isabela put her hands on her hips. "If you're a princess, honey, I'm the empress of Orlais!"

"How dare you speak to me that way, you dirty, horrible pirate!" Altanera scowled, and Hawke had to stifle a laugh at how adorable the small child's ferocity was.

"You're royalty, all right," Isabela said.

"Where is Captain Lukas?' Altanera asked.

"He kept you locked in a box – and you're worried about him?"

Altanera rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "He doesn't lock – " She suddenly looked evasive.

"Then how – oh, so that's it?" Isabela said, bending down and running her hands over the inside of the chest. "I haven't seen one of these in years. Let's see if I still remember where the release pin is."

"One of what?" Hawke asked.

"A magician's vanishing chest." Isabela said. "Ah-ha." She pushed, and three sides of the chest tilted back, revealing the metallic glint of a hidden hinge that connected the fourth side of the chest to the bottom. "See? If you position this over a trapdoor on stage, the assistant can leave the padlocked chest while the abracadabra is going on."

"I didn't know you worked as a magician's assistant!" Hawke delighted in uncovering little pieces of Isabela's past.

"I didn't," Isabela said. "But I spent too much time inside one of these. Do you know that if you attach iron strips across the bottom and up the sides, chests like these are perfect for delivering gifts to your friends?" She looked away from Hawke. "Luis got the idea from something he'd seen as a boy. He didn't even remember what city he'd been in, only that there had been naked women in fancy boxes."

"Isabela …"

"Anyhow," Isabela spoke to Altanera, deliberately making her voice breezy. "Take it from me, kid. Never get in a cage. No matter _how_ sparkly it is."

Hawke's heart ached at the bitterness in those last few words.

"It's _not_ a cage, it's my special hiding place," Altanera said stubbornly. "You can't make me get out."

"Tough words from such a small person," Isabela said, sitting back on her heels. "You think you can take me?" She held up her fists in mock combat.

Altanera squinted and curled her hands into claws. "Rawr!"

Isabela darted her hand around the claws and tickled Altanera until she giggled, then looked over her shoulder at Hawke. "She's cute. Let's keep her."

"Is that really an option?"

"No, of course not," Isabela said. "Alright, little lion, do you want to go back to hiding for a while longer?"

Altanera nodded, then quickly curled on her side in the chest. "Purr, purr, purr."

With a rueful smile, Isabela closed the chest.

"Don't forget to lock the lock," Altanera said. "So no monsters can get me."

Isabela hesitated, then did as the child had asked. "Let's see who and what else we inherited from Lukas," she said as she stood. "We'll figure out where to go from there."

.

Isabela and Hawke spent the next hour moving from stem to stern, interviewing the unfamiliar faces. As they started to go below-decks they met up with Martha.

"I was comin' up to look for you," she said.

"Trouble?" Isabela asked.

"Not yet," Martha said. "But I'd like to see us hove down before we meet any more friends. Previous captain's carpenter must've had moss for brains, because the barnies have their toes in the hull and there's near a foot of sour water in the bilge. I've put the crew to moving what's salvageable, but we've lost all but two barrels of drybiscuit." She huffed. "But you don't have a long face over biscuits."

Isabela nodded. "Lukas took on – _special cargo_."

"Aye, I heard. Something in great shiny box."

"The box contained a little surprise that Lukas must have found quite valuable," Isabela said, "yet he let us take it – and his ship – from him without much of a fight."

"Curious, that."

"I'm hoping someone from Lukas' crew stayed behind. We just went through everyone up top – any new faces down here?"

"Other than the two carved-up gentlemen in the hold, there's three in my crew," Martha said.

Isabela turned to Hawke. "I'll take the three. Go check the gentlemen."

.

Pallets had been set up in a an alcove next to Martha's cabin, a spot Hawke realized had likely been chosen for proximity to the woodworking saws. As she conjured a small flame and lit one of the lamps she could see that the two patients were in bad shape. One of the men lay unmoving on his back, his face dark with bruises. The other man, his shoulder and arm swathed in bloody bandages, lay on his side.

Tess, a quiet woman who had taken on the task of ship's surgeon, had appeared out of the gloom as Hawke approached. "They were injured days ago, and then shut away in the hold without care until we found them. It was horrible," Tess said. "I'm doing what little I can for them, but the flesh around their wounds has mortified. Nothing in my medicine chest can stop the poison of decay. I don't think even magic could." She put her hands into her sleeves. "It would have been a kindness to put them out of their misery." She looked away. "But I could not do such a thing."

Hawke hung the lamp carefully on the wall-hook, then put a comforting hand on Tess's shoulder. "I'm going to need to ask them some questions. Why don't you go topside and get some fresh air? I'll let you know when I'm done."

Tess looked down at the man with the bruised face. "This one can now only answer you with silence."

Hawke waited until Tess had gone up the stairs, then knelt next to the man with the bandaged arm. "Serrah, can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes with a start. "Your Majesty!"

"Tell me happened," Hawke urged softly.

"Ambushed," the man said. "Flowers and flame! Steel and blood!" His eyes were wide, apparently seeing only the horror of his memories. "Mender," the man said in a hoarse, urgent whisper. "Mender! Let the bird fly now! Before it is too late!" He shuddered, then curled in on himself. "I cannot do it!" he said, his voice now childlike and anguished. "Atishan descends … wings of green fire … " He went slack.

Hawke touched the side of his neck, but the life was gone. She took a tattered brown blanket and covered both bodies.

Tess was at the rail, fraying a scrap of rope as she looked out to sea. "Did he give you your answers?"

"Not really," Hawke said. "He thought I was the Queen. Or maybe the King. And he wanted you to release a bird."

"Still thinking of his pet," Tess said, wiping her face.

"Pet?"

"He had a bird," Tess said, twisting the rope in her hands. "In his shirt. They both did. Pretty little things with hoods. Legs wrapped with long strips of parchment."

"Where are the birds now?"

"Miyabi took them."

_"Miyabi the cook?"_

Hawke ran.

.

Petit waited for the laughter in the Eel and Oyster to fade before continuing. "And so Hawke, having rescued the birds – which of course you have all realized were royal Antivan messenger doves – from the cookpot, met with Isabela and Martha to discuss how best to return Altanera to her family."

"What was there to discuss?" a florid man in black brocade asked. "They knew where she belonged. Honest folk would have taken her back immediately!"

Petit motioned the barmaid to refill his tankard as the crowd muttered their agreement. He could read the tone – most of the audience was disapproving at this point in the narrative, but that was part of the push and pull of the storytelling, and to be expected. No, of far more concern to him were the shadowy hooded figures who had slipped into the Eel and Oyster a short time before, figures that had made sure to flash a glint of weapons in his direction. He would, it seemed, have to choose his words more carefully, perhaps even omit certain details altogether ...

"You make an excellent point, good sir," he said to the brocaded man, "but put yourself in Hawke and Isabela's pantaloons for a moment." Petit allowed the audience to chuckle at his cleverness. "If you had in your possession a Princess of Antiva, as well as the ship of the man that kidnapped her, would you not realize that to an outside observer it would appear as though you yourself were the kidnapper? Would you then naively sail into the midst of a harbor full of the gunships of the Antivan navy? Blithely walk through throngs of angry townspeople? March into the castle carrying the future Queen in your arms?" He shook his head, then said, "No, in such circumstances as those, even an innocent man has reason to be cautious."

The brocaded noble harrumphed. "I suppose."

"And so," Petit continued, "Hawke and Isabela sent a messenger dove to Antiva, delivering on snowy wing the news that Princess Altanera had been safely rescued from pirates, and suggesting that the King and Queen send a well-known adventurer to a certain island to pick her up … "

.

Hawke and Isabela had been walking along the beach, having been glared into it by Martha and most of the senior crew once the _Le Grand_ _Méchant_ had been careened for hull cleaning and repair. Hawke was blissful – her bare toes on the smooth wet sand, the deliciously cool waves curling around her ankles every few seconds – but Isabela soon declared walking to be boring and suggested they climb a hill instead.

"I'm still curious about what Lukas was up to," Hawke said as she brushed off her feet and pulled on her boots.

"Oh, let's go find him and ask," Isabela said as they jogged toward a small gully. "I'm sure he'll tell you _everything_."

Hawke grinned as they started to scramble up the incline. "Very funny. But something about the situation isn't right. If he kidnapped her from one of the shore roads and not in the city, he _had_ to have known that she was going to be there. It's too unbelievable that he just happened to go ashore near Rialto and just happened to wander down the road at the same time as Altanera."

"So?"

"So who told him? Her parents? One of the attendants?"

"Probably."

"That might explain why Lukas took the two injured bodyguards back to his ship instead of just killing them," Hawke mused, "but not why he tortured them by withholding treatment."

"Maybe he's a sadistic bastard?"

"He didn't hurt Altanera."

"Maybe he's a sadistic bastard with a soft spot for kids. It happens."

"And what happened to the other four guards? Did they join Lukas' crew?"

"I don't know," Isabela muttered as they reached the hilltop, "And right now I don't care."

They paused a moment to enjoy the view. Below them, Isabela's crew were colorful ants, some working on the ship, others piling driftwood by the fire or using huge palm leaves to make temporary lean-tos. Beyond them, to the east, the blue of the Amaranthine Sea shaded to black.

Isabela pulled Hawke close and nuzzled her neck.

"It just doesn't – " Hawke started to say before being kissed.

"Listen, dearest," Isabela said, exasperated. "You're making too much of it. Lukas probably just saw a rich wagon while he was ashore, managed to snag it, and then sailed to an out of the way spot to see what he could do with what he'd caught. That's what _I'd_ do." She slid her hands down Hawke's back. "Now, do you want to keep talking about Lukas, or do you want to take advantage of alone time?"

In reply, Hawke leaned back enough to loosen the top lace of Isabela's shirt. "Lukas? Who's Lukas?"

.

They had reluctantly begun to re-lace and re-buckle when they were startled by shouting from the beach below. Peering over the edge of the hill, they saw an approaching ship, the setting sun tinting its sails orange against the darkening blue of the sky.

"That was fast," Hawke said. "The King must have lent Petit a fast ship."

Isabela gathered up her daggers. "Petit's ships can outrun any royal navy."

"Or escort one?" Hawke pointed, as more ships emerged from the horizon. "Wasn't he supposed to come alone?"

"I guess the King was worried about his daughter," Isabela said as she began to run down the hill.

"Or he didn't trust your friend," Hawke said as she followed.

"Could be."

"Do _you_ trust him?"

"I have until now," Isabela said as they reached the edge of the beach and ran toward their ship.

At first Hawke thought the red flashes were a trick of the light, the setting sun glinting off metal, but as Isabela shouted "Run!" she realized that a volley of fireballs had been launched from the approaching ship.

 _"RUN!"_ Isabela shouted again as they ran toward the _Grand_ _Méchant_ and the row of lean-tos, Isabela's crew scattering up the hillsides.

An instant later the beach turned to flame.

_._

_._

.

(04) 17 Sept 2012


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a scandalous tale is told, enemies are revealed, an ending is a beginning, and a mystery unknots.
> 
> A thank you to **Stinger** for providing a key line for the opening.

.

.

"There is a misconception about combat," Petit told his audience at the Eel and Oyster, "held most often by those who have never raised a weapon." He took a sip from his tankard, watching as the cloaked trio in the corner of the room suddenly leaned their heads together in discussion.

"It is assumed that victory always goes to the strongest and most skilled." It looked to Petit as though the three were debating when to make their move against him.

"Certainly strength and skill are important, but even more key is the ability to observe," Petit said, Was it to be arrest or assassination? He rather hoped it would be neither, but that was unlikely, given the story they thought he'd be telling. Well, whatever it was, he hoped it would occur in front of his audience. Talk about a dramatic ending!

"Sometimes the smallest detail," he said, "may give a fighter the greatest advantage."

.

The first arc of fireballs that landed splashed flame across the _Grand Méchant_ , which had been careened on the beach to facilitate hull maintenance and repair. The attacks that followed targeted the shelters, then stopped.

"Shouldn't they be using cannons if they're trying to kill us?" Hawke asked as she threw ice shields over the burning ship and tents.

"Don't give them any ideas!" Isabela pulled Hawke behind a huge boulder, then signaled to her crew – most of whom had already taken cover in the hillside – to stay where they were.

After a moment in which the only sound was the crackle and hiss of melting ice on smoldering wood, the two women peered cautiously around the boulder.

The lead ship had lowered a small rowboat, and a number of armored and robed figures were descending a rope ladder to board it.

"Am I missing something?" Hawke asked. "Something that would explain why the king has sent four warships to pick up his daughter?"

"I have no idea." Isabela had her overly-innocent face on. "But look! Templars and clerics and mages! Getting along! Working together!"

"I'm not going to be that easily distracted," Hawke responded dryly. "Especially since they seem to be working together to try to kill us. Come on, you'd better tell me now – did something happen between you and Petit? I mean, you didn't forget to mention doing anything or stealing anything that would, say, make him want to kill you?"

The figures in the rowboat lifted their hands to produce glowing sigils before sitting to take up the oars.

Isabela shook her head without turning around.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Hawke put her hand on Isabela's shoulder. "Look, in case we – "

Isabela cut her off. "Don't you dare! Just – _don't._ " She sighed, then ducked back behind the boulder and put her arms around Hawke's waist. "I'm telling the truth this time. Petit and I – it was years ago. Your standard Weekend Fling at a Country Estate recipe. Mix one sexy thief, one handsome aristocrat turned scoundrel, bring to a slow boil in a banquet hall full of card-playing idiots with bulging purses, then serve on scented sheets. With ample garnish."

"So you parted amiably?"

"Of course. Well ... he might have been a _tiny_ bit annoyed that we didn't wake him up to tell him we were stealing his clothes, but we didn't have the heart. He looked so peaceful."

"We?"

"Anisette and Inavia – I did mention _garnish_ , didn't I?" At Hawke's eyeroll Isabela added, "Oh, it's not as if he was stranded penniless and naked! There were dresses! Made of lace and satin! I admit I'm not the best judge of frilly fashion, but in my opinion he had a lovely selection to choose from."

"Isabela ... "

The discussion was interrupted by splashing – the clerics and templars had reached the shore and were clambering out of the rowboat.

"Let me guess," Isabela called out to them as she stepped around the boulder. "You're lost and you stopped here to ask for directions?"

The apparent leader of the group, a tall robed cleric with severe, almost skeletal features, said smoothly, "I am Brother Sanir. We mean you no harm."

"Why isn't that ever reassuring?" Hawke said to Isabella. "No matter who says it, it's never reassuring."

"Well, it's so good of them to let us know that," Isabela answered Hawke loudly enough for Brother Sanir and his lackies to hear. "That must have been the point of setting our stuff on fire. To show us how not-harmful they are!"

Hawke recognized Isabella's tone of voice. It meant _Oh goody, I think trouble has arrived, let's have fun!_   "It was certainly a very clear message."

"And speaking of _friends_ ," Isabela said, turning back to Brother Sanir, "Which ship is he on?"

Brother Sanir stared at them. His eyes set Hawke on edge, dead eyes without warmth or anger or any human emotion. This man was very, very dangerous.

Isabela, who was pretending not to notice anything amiss, went on. "My friend? Richard Beaumont? Most call him Petit, but between you and me that's meant ironically. _Very_ ironically." She shaded her eyes and looked out at the ships. "I know he's here, since he's the only one who knew we were going to be on this particular island. Not many people know about this place, you know. It's ideal for marooning. Out of the way, and nothing to the east of us but the Great Sea … Anyhow, I know he's too lazy to come ashore, the slug, so if you tell me which ship he's on I'll just pop in, say hello, give him a poke. I'll only be a minute."

"Enough!" Brother Sanir's toneless voice had lost its initial politeness. "We are here for the girl. Give her to us. _Now_."

"Girl?"

Hawke noticed that the templars had tensed. No weapons had been drawn as yet, but the readiness was there. "You'll have to be more specific," she said. "There's quite a few girls here."

"You probably didn't notice," Isabela said, "but we like girls."

Unexpectedly, Brother Sanir responded with, "We will teach the princess to control her power."

"Power?" Isabela said. "Is she a baby magelet then?"

"You're here to take her to the Circle," Hawke said.

"She's no mere – " one of the templars began, but Brother Sanir silenced him with an abrupt gesture. "So you don't know?" he asked Isabela and Hawke. "You haven't seen what she can do?"

"Seen what?" Isabella asked, then said to Hawke, "We haven't seen anything, have we?"

"We haven't seen anything," Hawke replied. "At least, nothing that these sourfaces would want."

Brother Sanir smiled. "Ah ... Well. No need to concern yourself. Just give her to us."

"And if we refuse?" Isabela said.

"We _can_ take her by force."

"A bold claim," Hawke said as the oddness of the situation suddenly clicked into focus. "Considering that you're all _terrified_."

"Ridiculous!"

"As ridiculous as bringing four warships to capture a seven-year-old?"

Brother Sanir's eyes darkened then, and his voice boomed. _"Your screams of agony will bring her out of hiding!"_ And then he and those behind him shuddered as their robes split open, releasing the darkness ...

.

Petit paused as the audience gasped.

"Yes," he said after they had quieted, "the clerics and templars were not human. They - as well as the mages on the ships - were demons and Abominations all."

"Impossible!"

"Quite possible."

"Rubbish!" A stout burgher leaning against one wall shouted as the hubbub was dying down. "We're willing to swallow a certain amount of nonsense, storyteller, but now you've gone too far."

"Oh?"

"You expect us to believe that the king of Antiva sent out a fleet of demons?"

"Who questions the cost or the means when a child's life is at stake?"

"Yeah, well, that's the other thing," the burgher said expansively. "I've do quite a bit of business in Antiva. Make the rounds of the luxury bazaars four times a year, keep up with all the gossip and goings-on, and I'm telling you for a _fact_ that the King of Antiva has naught but sons."

"True," Petit said quietly. "There is no princess in the royal family ... _now_."

As this sunk in, the audience quieted, but the burgher wasn't done. "So you're hinting that this Altanera had some sort of – magical powers, aren't you? If she wasn't a mage, what was she?"

"Next he'll be claiming that she was an avatar of Andraste!" someone jeered.

"A clever guess," Petit said, "but not correct." He went on. "The King and Queen, who had been made to understood the chaos that would ensue if Altanera's true nature were revealed, had been told to hand her over to the Crows. They understood it was for the good of the kindom, but they also knew that the best their daughter could hope for was a swift, painless death. Unfortunately, they also knew that it was far more likely that she would be secretly auctioned off or otherwise enslaved, forced to use her powers at her purchaser's whim. As parents, they considered this fate for her worse than death, and so they proposed an alternate plan. They said that they themselves would arrange for Altanera to be kidnapped by pirate brigands. They said that they would remain above suspicion by allowing the news of the kidnapping to become known, then going through the motions of public outrage, anxiety, and preparing a ransom before tearfully reporting that Altanera had died at sea."

There were gasps from the crowd.

"The King and Queen assured their interlocutors that, given their daughter's emerging powers, mutual destruction of both princess and pirates was as good as guaranteed," Petit said, still watching the trio at the back of the room. "In other words, it was a solution that would keep everyone's hands clean."

"That's horrible!" someone said with disgust.

Petit inclined his head. "Nevertheless, the Chan- er, the _organization_ accepted this plan, unaware that there was slightly more to it than the King and Queen had let on ... "

.

The thing that had been Brother Sanir advanced on them, followed by its minions.

Isabela and Hawke – who had noticed that the mages on the ships had changed as well - turned and fled, dodging bolts of fire and shadow. When they had almost reached the line where the sand gave way to vegetation, someone ahead of them screamed, and the next instant there was a noise like a cataract suddenly undammed. Momentarily blinded by a searing flash of green light, as Hawke stumbled and fell she felt something brush past her, something more tangible than a gust of wind that left a swirl of cool, humid air in its wake. She twisted around, blinking and squinting through tear-blurred eyes, expecting to see the dark mass of an Abomination looming over her, but instead what she saw was –

– she rubbed her eyes.

Isabela was suddenly next to her, chin on Hawke's shoulder, and she breathed in awe, "I see it too."

A sparkling net of green arched over them, an expanding dome of vines that burned the shrieking demons as it pushed them away from the beach and into the water, where glowing strands of kelp climbed the hulls of the ships and poured across their decks, destroying every demon they touched.

And then, after one of the ships managed a round of cannon-fire, something dark moved under the waves. Massive tendrils rose from the water, coiled around each ship, and dragged them beneath the waves.

.

Petit paused for a moment, letting the images he had created in his listeners' minds have free rein, and then went on. "I, having seen these pyrotechnics from quite some distance away, arrived just as the battle was ending. I came ashore to a somber scene: Isabela's crew was gathered around Martha, the ship's carpenter, who rocked back and forth in soundless sorrow as she held in her arms a lifeless body.

"Hawke and Isabela took me aside and said that Martha's daughter Kallie had befriended Altanera over the past weeks and had managed to piece together the story of what transpired during her time with Captain Lukas. Altanera's caravan had been attacked by 'bad people in robes' who had killed all but two of her bodyguard before Lukas and his men arrived to turn the battle. When the fighting was over Lukas gained Altanera's trust by showing a ring given to him by the King, and told her that it was her parents' wish that she visit the forest folk, in a place far from bad people, until it was safe to come home. To this the princess willingly agreed. Altanera and her guards had been at sea only a short while when someone tortured one of the soldiers, an act that, in Altanera's words, 'made the green flower bird come and burn the bad people up.'

"Now," Petit said his audience, "imagine, if you will, how seeing such a demonstration of Altanera's powers would have affected Lukas. He had probably thought Altanera to be just an ordinary child with incipient magical tendencies, and so had not bothered to ask many questions about why her parents wanted to concoct such an elaborate scheme to hide her from the Circle. After Lukas had seen her power, however, he knew that he had been somewhat misled, and it is likely that his crew were on the verge of panic and mutiny. What was he to do?

"Many among you might think that such a thing would be no quandary for a man such as Lukas, but you are wrong. Despite the ruthlessness of their profession, under ordinary circumstances most pirates do not willingly harm a child. They will scythe strong men down without a thought, and sometimes strong women as well, but they are often surprisingly merciful to those who cannot raise a weapon against them. So while some among Lukas' crew might have been tempted to throw Altanera overboard to drown, or maroon her on one of the islands pirates use for such a purpose, most were either too tenderhearted or fearfully superstitious to do so. When Isabela's ship appeared Captain Lukas saw it as an opportunity to use a key principle of piracy – to the victor goes the bigger ship – to hand off their eldritch passenger to new caretakers. Isabela's clever ploy to take over his ship was more than he could have asked for, and so he and his crew willingly abandoned their ship – and thus Altanera – to Isabela and Hawke."

"So that's it?" asked someone less affected by the ending. "You showed up late, the girl was dead, end of story?"

"I'm afraid so." Petit lifted his hands in apology. "End of story."

"It's so sad," sniffled a matron sitting near Petit's dais. "They went to such lengths! and all for naught! She gave her life to save them!"

Petit, for once, had nothing to say.

"Wait a minute," someone else challenged. "You said when you started that you'd be telling the story of the most valuable cargo you'd ever had on your ship! Was that just a storyteller's lie?"

"My dear sir," Petit said with a flash of true anger, "what cargo could be more precious than carrying the remains of a beloved child?"

The dais was then swarmed with those moved by Petit's story. Beyond them Petit saw the three assassins begin to weave through the crowd, but as he could not tell if they were headed for the door or for him he allowed his admirers to sweep him upstairs to the Eel and Oyster's finest private room.

.

The Eel and Oyster was far from the most luxurious establishment in Llomerryn, but it was one of the few offering an unadvertised service much appreciated by select patrons such as Richard Russell Newton Ginelly-Miller of Beaumont: if specific strips of wainscoting near the end of a particular hallway were pressed a certain order, one could open a door to reveal a very secret stairway that led down to a canal that drained into the bay.

In other words, it allowed those select few a clandestine escape from irate lovers and assassins.

And so it was that, an hour or so before dawn, Petit carefully disentangled himself from various languid limbs and made his silent, naked way down that particular hallway and, retrieving the clothes and pouch of gold he'd previously stowed inside the wainscoting (he'd learned well the Lesson of the Satin Dresses), descended that very secret stairwell, waded with some distaste down the canal, and then, being cautious, climbed out of the water some distance from the bay.

He had just finished wringing out and re-donning his boots in a secluded alley when two cloaked figures melted out of the shadows in front of him. An instant later, a wire noose dropped over his head.

"Interesting story," the taller of the two before him said. "It takes skill to weave together truth and lie so convincingly."

"Thank you," Petit whispered in a croak, having been too slow to get his fingers under the wire before it was pulled snug. "But I was happy to put whatever skill I possess at the service of such magnificent women as the Champion and the Scourge."

"It's that eager willingness to please that made bedding you so enjoyable," the assassin behind him countered. "Well, one of the things."

"As was your willingness to allow me to please," Petit said, "my dear, insatiable Captain Isabela."

"You're getting careless in your old age, Petit," she said, releasing him. "You'd be dead if we really were assassins."

Ignoring this, Petit rubbed the red line on his neck as he asked, "So you're using the wire now instead of your blades?"

"I like to learn new things," Isabela said. "It keeps life from becoming boring."

"Well, whether garotte or dagger," Petit said with a bow, "I can think of few more pleasant ways to die than with the bounty of your incomparable breasts pressing against my back."

"You were right," Hawke said. "He really _does_ talk like that all the time."

"Told you."

"I am honored by your presence," Petit said with a second bow to Hawke, "but I am surprised to see you here in Llomerryn. I thought you were still roaming the sea with this bronze goddess?"

"Now and again," Hawke said with a smile. "But we had an old friend visiting who wanted to meet you, and when we heard you were at the Eel and Oyster, we decided to bring her."

"She's heard us talk for years about your various exploits," Isabela added meaningfully.

"Indeed?" Petit turned to the third figure, who had not spoken. "The bed in my cabin has always had room for four."

"A tempting offer. But not why I wanted to meet you." And then she pushed back her hood, revealing the face of the young woman who had been known for the past decade as Kallie, daughter of Martha. There were still signs of the child princess she had once been, overlaid with the dignity of one who carries great power.

Petit looked surprised, and then pleased. "How is Martha?" he asked. "Still carpentering?"

"Yes, she's doing well. The Dalish have begun teaching her some of the ancient making arts."

"Oh? I'd like to visit some day, if that's permitted."

"I'm sorry, but—" She looked at Hawke and Isabela.

"Even _we_ don't know exactly where those two are living," Isabela interjected.

Petit frowned. "Is there still a danger? I've told the tale often enough over the years that it's commonly accepted that the ashes my ship carried back to Antiva were those of the princess."

"The rumor that one of the old Elf gods has been reincarnated keeps re-surfacing," Hawke said. "And the Unnamed… well, they never stop sniffing around. They're shrewd enough to know that the death of a princess makes a better story than the death of a carpenter's daughter. Happily, they haven't ever seemed to notice the change in Kallie's age."

The young woman touched Petit's arm. "I am grateful for what you did, and that you continue to weave the story that shields me, but please be careful. Until the time is right for Her return there will always be danger to those who know the truth."

"It is my honor," Petit said, "to serve one who walks the path of Vir Atish'an."

"The path to which I must now return," the girl said. She embraced Petit, Hawke, and Isabela. "The blessing of Sylaise be with you," she said.

For an instant all four faces were lit with a pale green light from a crown of ethereal leaves, and then in ones and twos the travelers went forth into the dawn.

_._

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_~ The End ~_

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_._

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_**I would ask that those reviewing avoid spoilers for the end of the story.** _

If you have questions (or want to talk specifically about the ending), please pop over to [the Dreamwidth entry for this story](http://silverr.dreamwidth.org/41965.html) (dated 21 September 2012). You won't need an account to comment. (If you prefer LiveJournal, the entry is mirrored there as well.)

Thank you for reading!

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posted 21 September 2012; rev 12 July 2015

 


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